


John meets Death

by RationalistRomantic (Chryses)



Series: Appointment in 221B [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: I'm so not sorry, M/M, Nobody Actually Dies, Satire, Sherlock Holmes is not a cynic, a bit of philosophical rant, appointment in samarra head-cannon, dying used as a concept of humor, light-hearted morbid humor, major/minor injury, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 07:22:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10381527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chryses/pseuds/RationalistRomantic
Summary: John was dying, and there was a 99.8% chance that he might've hallucinated the whole thing; meeting Death, for example.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely will plan to add to this in a form of a series in no particular order, but here you go! Please enjoy!

As far as formal introductions could go, the way they met was as good as any. His skin was drenched in sweat, and the sun was angled at an odd steep that brought spots on his vision whenever he blinked. Did he mention that he was shot just a few seconds ago? The shoulder, just below his clavicle, and barely missing an artery.

“How can you stand this?”

He blinked his eyes at the distant sound of somebody approaching. The footsteps were barely a dent on the sand, which would either indicate that this person was a civilian, or another soldier from the opposing brigade.

“And to think that anybody would need that many wars just to prove a point; how terribly tedious. I can see how Mycroft would’ve fancied such trivialities: boring, elbow-rubbing politicians who have egos larger than their own problem solving skills. What dull lives humans must live.” Alright, well, wasn’t that interesting? The last thing he would’ve witnessed before his death was some nihilistic, misanthrope nutter who was apparently above it all. He could complain, granted that he wasn’t as amused as he’d been in a long while.

At the sound of rustling sand, he closed his eyes again with the hopes that he would’ve at least be spared, had the man actually been someone sent there to finish off any remaining survivors.

“I should take offense at your attempt to act dead, John Watson. But, as it appears, you were on my list of casualties - hardly an accurate descriptor, that - and now you’re not. Interesting.” Yes, that was definitely a nudge of some foreign leather towards his uninjured side. He grunted when his back had hit the sand. “Stop being boring, I’m hardly what one could call an adversary. Though, I could be, should my brother continue with his prolonged contact with foreign affairs.”

Oh, he’s got loose morals too. Perfect.

“I’ve been informed that sarcasm was the lowest form of wit.”

What? He didn’t even say anything. At least he didn’t thinks so.

“You were thinking it; it’s become something of annoyance, but as you’ve barely exhausted your efforts in this interactions, I might as well provide one end of the conversation.” The bloke had a put-upon sigh like talking was some form of manual labour.

“Hardly something to say to the dying.” He found himself providing. He was about to die anyway, might as well not waste his time contemplating his own death.

  
“Just barely.” The man snorted, and proceeded to roll his eyes as he continued. “The first word to initiate the conversation is of dramatics - how is it that humans find entertainment in that kind of feat?”

“It’s for escapism, or something. Undead housewives of widowed husbands is much more entertaining to watch than acknowledging that your partner is cheating on you with another man.”

“I don’t see why separation has yet to be established.”

This time, he did open his eyes with the hopes of placing a face with the voice. Unfortunately, he was well dehydrated, and probably lost about half a pint of blood to the sand by now, so the best he could do was tilt his head enough to catch sight of black holes for eyes, and unhealthy pallor of skin. Great, so there was probably a chance of him hallucinating all of this.

“Well, when two people loved each other, it’s hard to just get out of that without putting up a fight.” Was he talking to a child? “It’s supposed to be the perks of having someone have your back when you need it.”

“You are aware that it’s statistically more likely to be murdered by someone of close proximity to the victim, rather than a serial killer, right? Television has poisoned the minds of many, no more than the insipid influence of children in the guise of adults.”

He opened his mouth to protest that he was one of the said ‘adult’, but he reckoned that the statement had proven to be true in a handful of situations.

“Cynic?” He didn’t know where the question had come from, but his delirious-addled brain just had to ask.

The figured hummed in contemplation (or at least that was as far John had gathered) for a few ticks.

“I prefer the term bitter idealist.” There was some shuffling, and he felt a cold breeze soothe his face. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that a face hoovered above his. “Try not to die, John Watson.”

But wasn’t I supposed to be already? He quietly questioned when he found his energy was lacking, and couldn’t get himself to utter a response.

“Obviously, I could hardly influence which side of the spectrum you would reside in the near future, however, you have proven yourself to be a passable human guide.” Then there was some rustling, and the voice grew fainter, like there was suddenly a great distance between them. “I’m hardly one for promises, but should you cross over that hurdle, I could find some use for you.”

“Not a handbag.” He slurred, his tongue suddenly too thick for his mouth. He meant to smile, but a grimace sufficed. At least for now. “Your name?”

“I go by many things for as long as humans had tongues -”

There was the sound of helicopter beating around the sand, and he found that he was straining to hear the rest of it.

Before John lost his consciousness completely, he could’ve sworn he saw a smirk pull at the corners of the wraith’s mouth.

“ - though I suppose, the most accurate depiction would be when I had the unfortunate meeting with the servant... in Baghdad.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? Concerns? A kudo? :D?


End file.
